


[A]LSM: Arco Iris

by threePwny



Series: Team ALSM [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Canon Compliant, Color Naming Rule Compliant, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, no canon characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-08-23 11:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16618028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threePwny/pseuds/threePwny
Summary: This work serves as the introduction and backstory to Team ALSM's venerable leader: Arco Iris. Please enjoy and give any feedback you have!





	1. Daybreak

The sun flashed a brilliant green for the briefest of moments before igniting the sky in a vibrant display of orange and pink, as if to spite the dreary monotony of the sand. _The_ _desert that swallowed the oasis of Vacuo_ _yet_ _retains a sliver of its former glory_ , Arco thought to himself. He stretched bodily as he watched the sun rise and the sky grow blue. There were certainly perks to taking the last watch.

Arco dropped from his perch, landing in a deep crouch and standing to his full, towering height. He pulled his massive shoulders back, making no effort to conceal his presence. For all his eighteen years, his body looked three years older, and his face as many younger. His sun-bleached hair, now only a pale imitation of its naturally dark auburn, threatened to cover his eyes as they scanned the horizon again. He reached back and tied his hair into a careless ponytail, taking the opportunity to touch the hilt of his sword. Reassured, he strode toward his party’s camp, situated under the protection of a large dune. His cardinal robe flowed gently, its gold stripes glowing in the sunlight, and its rainbow-colored accents dispelling any illusion that he concerned himself with camouflage.

As he came to the short tents pitched around the cold, ashen kindling that provided their meager fire the previous night, Arco extended his aura and gently prodded his friends’ minds. They jolted awake, one tent collapsed, then their heads cleared just as suddenly as he withdrew his aura. “Arco,” one scolded as he slid out of his tent, “you keep using your semblance to wake us like that and one day I might actually kill you.” The early bird was close in age to Arco, the closest of anyone else in the group. He sat up, ran his hand over his buzzed head, and gave his friend a disapproving look.

Arco grinned, “As if you could on your best day, Mao. But I will take it under advisement.” Mao didn’t dignify Arco’s retort with a reply, settling for a disconsolate scowl and a sigh as he pushed himself up from the ground.

Another head poked out from a tent, this one belonging to a girl of fifteen years, her face framed by white waves of hair. “Mao is right, Arco. Waking up adry for blood ruins my beauty sleep.”

Arco raised an eyebrow, a common gesture when speaking to her. “Come on, Saffron, it’s too early for your vocabulary lessons.” He half-turned, searching for something far away on which to fix his eyes, then turned back to meet the girl’s unreadable gaze. “Fine,” he sighed, “what does ‘adry’ mean?”

Saffron rolled onto her back and smirked up at him. “Thirsty,” she said sweetly, with an innocent tilt of the head.

Arco contemplatively massaged his chin. “So then, ‘adry for blood’ means…” He nodded his understanding. “And why couldn’t you just say ‘bloodthirsty’?”

The girl’s smirk became a full grin as she rolled upright and stood. “I enjoy tormenting you,” she answered, brushing the sand from her hair.

By this time, everyone had tiredly crawled out of their tents, stretching themselves awake. There were nine members of the group in total, ranging in age from thirteen to eighteen. They were orphaned nomads, and like most of their countrymen, didn’t have any particular place they called home.

Since the Great War, the nation of Vacuo had become a barren desertscape with only a few sizeable towns surviving. Most of what remained were nomad camps and small villages that were founded as often as they were buried in the sand. Lacking all legitimacy, the nominal government was supplanted by its Huntsman Academy, Shade. The Academy was the only respected source of law and order, nearly above reproach. But in the absence of a nearby Huntsman team, a sort of chivalrous anarchy ruled. Common respect was earned simply by surviving, yet respect was no shield against hostile raiders and creatures of Grimm.

The Grimm. The monsters had destroyed and occupied many cities and villages during the War, including the area where the group was currently camped. The Grimm here, though, had been dealt with already. And in the recent ruins of one village, his party found a survivor. Now secured to a sled, the guest laid yet unconscious, and one of the girls tended to him as Arco approached. “Hey, Grace. How’s our patient?”

The girl looked up from her charge, a rogue lock of her fiery hair falling over her Granny apple eyes, and her hands momentarily ceased motion. “I’ve done what I can, but the damage is deep. I’m just praying he’ll last long enough to find a doctor.”

Arco smiled thinly. He knew how rare—and expensive—a doctor more skilled than Grace was in Vacuo. Still, he held his concerns. “Keeping him alive is a good start, and you’re damned good at that,” he assured her. She gave her brightest smile and returned to her work preparing the man for the day’s travels.

Arco moved to the spot his tent had been pitched, where it waited tightly packed with his sleeping roll and rucksack, just as he had left them before starting his watch. He slung them around to his back, securing them such that they would not impede the draw of his sword.

A bronzed longsword as high as his chest, his weapon was too long to secure at his hip, so it rested in a special scabbard that allowed it to be drawn easily from his back. It had been crafted for him by an especially skilled smith in the city that was strewn around Shade Academy. Its broad blade, forged of a high-carbon steel, subtly shined myriad colors and tapered to a shallow point. At the base rested the open mouth of a dragon, housing a small Dust-fueled lighter. The hilt fit one hand at the crossguard, then tapered for a hand before widening into a garneted pommel, which served both to balance the sword for one-handed use and as a grip for two-handed.

Satisfied with his readiness, Arco walked to the remains of the fire and buried them in the sand. The desert would cover it soon anyway; already, there were no visible tracks beyond the camp but his own. Still, he knew the sooner any evidence of their presence was erased, the better.

 After dusting off his hands, Arco stood and went to where Mao was packing his tent. “How are we doing this morning?” he asked, watching his friends as if to answer the question himself. Tiredness was absent from their movements, although he sensed impatience.

Mao glanced up from his packing. “Well enough. I’m thinking we’ll hit Shade before dusk, and I suspect it’ll still be standing. Good for morale.” Arco nodded in agreement. Their group was a scavenger party, combing destroyed establishments for anything worth trading that hadn’t been buried by the sand. Any opportunity to lighten their sleds and sleep in real beds was welcome. Mao secured his pack and stood, his height barely reaching Arco’s shoulders. They hung wearily, he noticed. “You?”

“I’m fine.”

“You do know others can take the morning watch, right?”

“I want to keep everyone fresh.”

“We need you fresh.”

“The sunrise is refreshing. You should see it sometime.”

“Then let me take the next watch.” Mao watched Arco’s eyes stubbornly looking anywhere but his. “A shield broken by exhaustion doesn’t do us much good.”

 Arco tore his eyes from the horizon to his friend’s. “That was a terrible analogy,” he deadpanned. “But,” he continued, a smile breaking onto his face, “I will take that under advisement as well.”

“You damn well better,” Mao turned away and walked to where a few of their friends now stood ready and waiting. Pausing, he called back, “Oh, and it was a metaphor!”

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Arco followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work serves as the introduction and backstory to Team ALSM's venerable leader: Arco Iris. Please enjoy and give any feedback you have!


	2. Excursion

The sun hung high overhead, and Arco observed that his party cast only the tiniest slivers of shadows. They trekked across the rippling sea of sand in a loose formation, each wrapped in a light cloak and dragging a shallow sled loaded with supplies and scavenged goods. Stretching around them seemingly without end, the desert was silent except for the infrequent whisper of dry wind; even the rare wildlife of Vacuo hid quietly from the blazing heat. The tedium was interrupted only by the slight variations of elevation, with the odd tall hill. From the peaks of such dunes, the landscape fell away to extend the view by as much as tenfold; even then, it was sand and rocks as far as the eye could see. The group fanned out to mitigate the effects of explosive attacks, but their arrangement still felt diminutive amidst the vast expanse of sand.

Leading the pack, Saffron strode with steps as long as as her petite legs would allow, a slight swagger in her gait as she twirled her atlatl (a slotted stick used to throw heavy darts with remarkable power). One of the youngest in the group, Saffron’s build took great advantage of the device’s leverage. Watching the atlatl spin in the air, her ashen hair fell back, brushing lightly against the shoulders of her simple yellow cloak. Her face was set alight as she squinted her golden eyes against the sun, which ignited them brilliantly as though they were suns unto themselves. As her weapon fell back down, she briefly fumbled with it and glanced up to see if anyone had noticed. A few meters beside her, a crimson eye and its violet twin observed with mild interest. Their owner opened his mouth to speak, but Saffron cut him off, “Say anything, and I will kill you in my sleep.”

The boy’s mouth snapped shut, capturing a length of his hair, then spread into a roguish grin. He raised an eyebrow, “Your sleep?”

“My sleep.”

“Oh, you’ve sealed your fate now,” he cackled, his feline tail flicking excitedly. “You will never sleep again!”

“Cesar…” warned Saffron lowly.

Cesar shrugged off the lead of his sled and rubbed his hands mischievously. With a giddy bound, he closed the distance between them. Saffron kept her eyes stolidly forward, her view of the desert occasionally pervaded by Cesar’s torso as he skipped a circle around her, lightly pushing her and exclaiming, “Bother, bother, bother!” Just as quickly as he had reached her, Cesar retreated to his sled. His hair, black at its roots and discolored by the sun at its tips, flicked with its own will as he turned back to face Saffron’s feigned glower.

“I can kill you in your sleep, if you would prefer,” she said.

“I prefer living. It’s good for my health.”

Her scowl gave way to a smile and she shrugged, “Have it your way.”

A new voice interrupted, “Are you two lovebirds done now?”

Saffron fixed the boy walking wide behind her with a genuine glare. He met her eyes unflinchingly, and the attitude implied by his dark, neatly maintained hair suggested that he could hold her gaze as long as he cared. “Do we need to have the same conversation?” she threatened.

The boy still didn’t waver. “Are you all so undisciplined? It’s a wonder you’ve survived as long as you have.”

On the other side of the formation, Mao spoke up, “Relax, Alith. We’ve done worse and been fine.”

Alith balked, sheer horror on his face. “Is that supposed to be of comfort?! I didn’t join your band of eccentrics to be killed in the first ambush!”

“We don’t all need to be on watch at the same time. We trust each other. That’s how we survive.”

“Pardon me for not being filled with confidence. What happens when you all think someone else is on watch and no one is?”

Cesar interjected, “We know each other too well for that to happen.”

“Then you’ll excuse me for not knowing you well enough.”

“You’ll know us better than you like soon enough.”

Alith gritted his teeth, “I look forward to it.”

“Good.”

Alith indulged himself in rolling his deep blue eyes. To his annoyance, however, Cesar’s attention was already elsewhere. He watched curiously as Cesar picked up the object of interest: a smooth, wind-worn stone that fit snugly in his closed fist. Cesar’s aura surged, and water seeped from his hand. Opening his fist, he inspected the dense metal pellet that remained, the same shape as the stone and about half the size. He reached down and unlooped a shepherd’s sling from his belt, then placed the pellet in the cradle and swung it in a careful arc as he walked. After a moment of consideration, he removed the pellet and dropped it into a pouch on his hip, where it landed among similar pellets with a satisfying clink, then replaced the sling on his belt.

Cesar broke the short silence, “Question: why did you join our ‘band of eccentrics’?”

“I hoped, at the time, that this would be a competent crew, that maybe I’d eventually save up enough to get out of this hellhole. But your antics and that poor half-dead sap are making me question my decision,” Alith said, gesturing behind himself to the yet-unconscious survivor Grace pulled on a second sled.

A wounded expression fell over Grace’s face, “That’s not fair.” She couldn’t help but be affected by Alith’s comment as she shuffled along, her intense Titian hair flowing from under her hood. Her eyes, complementary in hue and flattering to her pastel complexion, focused on the sand in front of her sluggish feet. She slipped a contrite glance at her patient and sighed.

Following up the rear, Arco barked, “Alith! That’s enough.”

“Enough of what?” Alith held out his arms, though whether to indicate confusion or invite further discord was anyone’s guess. “Am I not allowed to speak the truth? That guy was dying when we found him, and now he’s still dying.”

“I’m happy to have your skill set on the team,” Arco said, “but I won’t tolerate you shitting on my friends. If you’re so confident you’re better off without us, I will gladly drop you off in the next Grimm-ridden settlement we reach, and you can fend for yourself there. Hell, I can kick you out right now, if you’d like. But I’d prefer to not have to, so help me out here.”

Alith pursed his lips and his eyebrows furrowed. He paused, then answered, “Fine. I’ll play nice.” Turning back to Grace, he curtsied, “My apologies, m’lady.” With considerable effort, Arco bit his tongue and let the comment pass.

Next to Grace, completing the hexagon, walked another boy, intently examining his katars (a pair of push daggers) and humming a quiet tune. At first glance, one could be forgiven for assuming he was Saffron’s twin; close in age, they looked alike in all but palette, and his rose eyes proved just as striking as hers. His dusty white cloak, arranged as messily as his hair and trimmed with soft pink, rippled with each step. Mao turned to face him. “How you doing, Raio?”

The boy tore his eyes from his inspection and brushed his chocolate-brown bangs from his eyes. “Hmm?”

“How—”

“I’m good. Just, y’know, content in my thoughts.”

“Alright,” Mao chuckled. He turned back forward and his smile faded from his lips, but it lingered in his eyes. The scarlet orbs appeared as any human eyes, except that they were slit like a cat’s. In the luminous sun, his pupils all but disappeared into the vivid color. He kept his hair cut close, its foxy brown ends peeking from his scalp and subtly lightening his richly tanned skin. Unlike the others, Mao chose to carry his weapon in hand. His guandao (a polearm as tall as him affixed with a heavy notched blade) sported a vermilion tassel that fluttered in the intermittent wind. His arm was no thicker than the shaft, yet he hefted it with ease.

On the other hand, despite Grace’s attempt to maintain an erect carriage, Arco noticed that her broad shoulders sagged.

“Grace,” he said, “are you okay there?”

Her smile failed to reach her eyes. “I’m fine. He is lighter than you, after all.”

Arco chortled, but he was dubious. He leaned down to reach the ear of the girl walking under his safeguard, “How’s our water supply, Shaella?”

Sensing his purpose, the party’s youngest member considered but for a pause. “Now wouldn’t be a bad time to refill our skins.”

Arco nodded and clapped her shoulder, inadvertently pulling her hair uncomfortably. Shaella tilted her head to alleviate the pressure, and he immediately withdrew his hand. “Oh! Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, smoothing her blonde hair so it fell straight to her shoulders. She smiled pleasantly, with no sign of pique in her cool blue eyes. He gently patted the side of her slender arm, free of any hair.

Putting his fingers to his mouth, Arco whistled a descending tone, and the party came to a halt. “How do we look, Ambra?” he called.

In the center of the formation, the powerfully built sentinel swept her gaze over the desert once more, her honey eyes skillfully vigilant as they took in the gently undulating sand. Her handsome, mousy hair cascaded down to the small of her back, subdued only by her Faunus horns, which coiled from her forehead around her elfish ears to her jawline. She looked to the horizon above Arco, then dropped her gaze to his. “Clear!”

The formation collapsed in, its members glad for the opportunity to rest as they shed their sleds. “Top off,” Arco ordered.

Cesar collapsed dramatically and raised a finger. “Wake me when the sun is made of ice cream,” he said, letting his arm drop.

Saffron lightly kicked his side and stepped over him. “We would all be dead then.”

“Not if we eat it,” he grinned.

“Right, we would all be dead, and you would be fat and sick.”

Cesar pouted, “I said ‘we’.”

“Okay, so we would all be fat, sick, and frozen?”

“Brain-frozen or frozen-frozen?” Raio joined.

“And what flavor, anyhow?” Saffron asked. “Lemon?”

“Come on, I didn’t expect a kind of Atlesian Inquisition!” Cesar complained.

Arco laughed, “Nobody does.”

While the others chattered, Shaella knelt and began digging in the sand. Once she was content with the modest hole, she set her spade aside and closed her eyes. Reaching out with her aura, she felt deep into the ground until she sensed the aquifer that wound beneath Vacuo. Once the source of life in the former oasis, the aquifer remained untapped and all but forgotten since the Great War. Shaella drew from it, and soon the hole began slowly filling with water.

As the rest took their turns filling their water skins, Arco approached Grace. “You should really share your load.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “He’s my patient, my responsibility.”

“Then let me take the other sled,” Arco demanded. Grace opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, “If you don’t, I’ll end up having to drag both your sleds, and you. I’d rather take just the one.”

“Am I really that weak to you?”

Arco took a breath. “No, you’re not weak, but you need to heed your limits. You don’t do anyone any good by working yourself into the sand.” Nearby, Mao overheard and shot Arco a pointed look, but it went unnoticed.

Lacking further argument, Grace surrendered her sled. Arco went to secure it to his own, but he stopped and turned back. “And hey, don’t worry about Alith. I know you’re the best, and you’re invaluable to us. Okay?” She nodded blankly, and Arco turned around only to promptly bump into Ambra. He instinctively stepped back. “What’s up?”

“We’re still clear for now, but a potentially hostile party has appeared on the horizon about five klicks northwest. I advise we skirt around to the southwest.”

Arco glanced in the direction she indicated but was unable to ascertain the threat. Still, he trusted her judgement, noting that she was unhurried and left her bow slung on her back. He nodded his assent and raised his voice to the group, “Let’s take a few, grab a bite to eat, then set back up, heading southwest.” The others murmured their acknowledgement and relaxed.

Picking up his own water skin, Arco headed toward Shaella’s watering hole and found the girl struggling to fill a water vessel half her size. He held out his skin to her. “Trade you.” She gratefully relinquished the heavy load and set to filling his water skin. Arco finished filling the larger vessel and carried it to his sled. Once it was loaded, Shaella returned his replenished skin, and he took a swallow.

Maintaining her position in the center of the group, Ambra resumed her watch, idly flipping her seax as she bit into a piece of flatbread. Beside her, Alith shifted his weight back and forth between his legs, already hitched to his sled. The rest sat, inspecting their weapons or chatting lazily as they ate.

“Not so,” Saffron said, “Lancers are much more dangerous than Death Stalkers.”

Raio regarded her incredulously. “How? Death Stalkers are huge scorpions with stingers the size of my body! Regular scorpions are bad enough to deal with, but a Grimm version? Pain in the ass.”

“And Lancers are colossal hornets. Bees are polite. Scorpions are not aggressive. But hornets will sting you for the fact that you exist, and the Grimm variant is twice the size of an average human—”

“Or one and a half Ambras.”

“Or one and a half Ambras, thank you—and capable of shooting its stinger tethered to its body. Let us not forget, they fly as well, making you a pretty paperweight.”

“Touché. But still, we almost never see Lancers. Death Stalkers are an everyday affair in Vacuo. If we judge by probability of dying fighting them, Death Stalkers are more deadly. They even have ‘death’ right there in the name.”

“And what is worse,” Saffron challenged, “being stalked to death or being lanced to death?”

“I dunno, the dying part doesn’t do either of them any favors.”

“Both suck.”

“Both suck.”

Sitting cross-legged in the sand, Grace took the time to disassemble and clean her pistol, the only firearm carried by any member of the party. More beautiful and ornate than especially effective, it was still lethal up close, but its single shot capacity rapidly lost power and accuracy with range. Really, it was a sidearm to her arming sword, which she also kept carefully honed. She worked with deft efficiency, her hands wasting no movement even as she ate a strip of lizard jerky.

Alith repeatedly checked his own weapons, ensuring for the umpteenth time that day that his dory and xiphos were combat ready. He ran his hand through his hair with a sigh and crossed his arms.

Chewing his own piece of jerky, Arco watched until Grace had reassembled her pistol and slipped it into the front of her baldric, then called, “Let’s roll!” Everyone stood and pulled on their sleds’ harnesses. As they reconvened the formation, Arco glanced to the edge of the desert, still unable to see the threat Ambra warned of. It was possible the company she saw would be friendly, but it wasn’t a risk worth taking in their present state. Insufferable as the Grimm could be, there was something exceptionally taxing about human enemies.

The group moved forward, their pace renewed by rest. As they progressed across the rolling waves of sand, the sun crept imperceptibly toward the edge of Remnant. Arco kept an eye on its motion and called occasional changes to the formation’s course as he gradually brought it to bear upon Shade. The sky deepened to azure, and Arco finally located the minatory party on the horizon. They held there, seeming neither to advance nor to retreat, their proximity unvarying, disappearing only when a dune briefly separated the parties. Although he delayed any reaction to their presence, Arco’s gaze swung to observe them ever more frequently.

The shattered fragments of Remnant’s moon peeked over the horizon, followed shortly by the surviving core. No one quite knew how the moon had been fractured, nor how the pieces were held so perfectly stationary. The theories ranged from scientific to occult, but Arco subscribed to the thought that Dust was responsible. A volatile form of energy, Dust powered all technology on Remnant. In its raw form, Dust could possess many seemingly magical properties; fire Dust fueled the lighter in Arco’s sword. Perhaps, he hypothesized, the moon was rich in a variety of Dust that manipulated gravity and held the its fragments together.

As the moon traded places with the sun, Arco was pleased to see the opposing party vanish for good beyond the horizon. The day’s journey was proving mercifully peaceful, a rare occurrence. He released the tension in his shoulders, tension he hadn’t realized was there. Although he knew better than to sacrifice vigilance, he allowed himself the hope that they were home free.

The party summited a large dune, Shade Academy fell into view, still some leagues off. “Land ahoy!” Cesar bellowed. The others raised a cheer, except for Alith, who remained silent. Eagerly looking forward, Arco checked the expanse of desert between his party and Shade for any last-minute threats. Seeing none, he risked relaxing. But his hope of an easy day without fighting was dispelled by Ambra’s voice, “Sandwyrm!”

Alith closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a pause. “Fuck!”

Looking more carefully, Arco noticed the sand of the basin churning subtly enough that he’d mistaken it as a heat mirage. As he continued watching, it became increasingly clear that something big was shifting under the sand. And unless Atlas was invading the broken desert with a secret new machine, only one creature of Grimm in Vacuo was large enough to disturb the sand on that scale. It was as Ambra said: a Sandwyrm.

Arco berated himself for missing the threat; without Ambra, he’d have walked his friends into the death trap completely unprepared. He considered their options. If his party skirted around further to the south, they could potentially avoid the behemoth. But that would extend their trek some hours into the night, making other Grimm attacks all the more likely—and difficult. The Sandwyrm would be a tough fight, certainly, but he knew it was winnable and gave the group a good chance of reaching the Academy before dusk.

Mao’s grip on his weapon tightened and he looked to Arco. “What’s the plan?”

Arco met his eyes and came to a decision. “Ready weapons! We’re going through it.”


End file.
